Honeymoon's Over

I'm docked at the harbor and bubbling like an elixir.

I've passed on every hors devours at this over-pretentious mixer.

The line to the john is out past the parlor.

And, to the guests, my curtness has me looking like a snarler.

Don't invite me the next time you choose to believe.

I'm not the guy you met who wipes with his sleeve.

You weren't quite prepared when I turned off the fan.

And let my poop-strained noises loose while using the can.

We live in an evolved world, yet I remain where I stood.

When you took the chance, believing, that I might be good.

No, dear, your mother was right in her stout indignation.

For a congenial husband was just a figment of your imagination.